I made a little progress with Jerry today. Even the smallest thing triggers both of our PTSD issues. Then we have to fight each other. Well tonight I managed to do something different. I was on the treadmill late. 8 pm – 10 pm. Apparently this didn’t sit well with him and he came into the exercise room and gave me the evil eye. Then he SLAMMED the door shut. I just kept walking and didn’t ‘rise’. When I was done, I came to him in bed and very gently asked; “Why did you slam the door?” He said that I was doing my walking too late and that the TV, which is next to our bedroom, was keeping him awake. So I told him I’d try not to get on the treadmill so late. He said sarcastically; “Try!!??” I didn’t say anything back. The truth of the matter is, I can’t guarantee that it won’t happen again. I’m human. All I can do is try.

For 38 years in 12 Step Program I have been unable to keep up a meditation routine. Today I finally took my sponsor’s direction about meditating. I sat on my loveseat for 5 minutes and not a second longer. I have to find out why I can’t do it after all these years of trying. Now I’m finally ready to take direction!!

No… really… It was a dark and stormy night. I was six years sober at the time. SIX YEARS SOBER AND I STILL HAD THE OBSESSION TO DRINK! YIKES!

Don’t ask my how I could have pulled that off. How can a drunk, who is drooling for a drink, not drink… for six years. Fear. That’s all I can say. Plain fear. Unadulterated fear. I’d had a vision of my life if I’d continued down the drinking path, and it wasn’t pretty. It was a horror movie. God showed me my future in living color six years before that, and I couldn’t deny the truth of that future if I continued to drink the way I was doing. And I couldn’t stop the drinking the way I was doing it. So I dragged myself to A.A. and they got me sober.

Suddenly I find I can meditate! I’m doing it for an hour a day with almost no trouble at all. AA’s Step 11 (Sought through Prayer and Meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood him) was absolutely impossible for me. It used to be, even at 34 years sober, that I couldn’t sit quietly for even a couple of minutes. The goolie and goblins would get me. Those goolies called:

You’re nothing but a piece of shit! You ought to be ashamed of yourself! No body wants you let alone loves you! Why don’t you just go away and die! (etc, etc, etc.)

Because of childhood abuse and a vicious attack, I have been dealing with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) in therapy since my 20’s. I am in my 50’s now. But in November of 2010, my God (whom I call Papa; Pops for short) stepped in and released me from something attached to this PTSD, that was transforming.

I'm Michelle. This is my blog. I write about women and fatness, expound upon semi-coherent thoughts I have in the middle of the night, and offer tough love to those in whom I am disappointed; they are legion.